Backstabber
by QueenofDiamondss
Summary: One cut was all it took to bring low one of the strongest nations. One of the oldest nations. But who can say if one cut can kill? Note: Angst and character death if veiwed correctly. R&R.


In the beginning, it had been just him. By himself; with the world around him. Sure, there were other people and other countries at his borders, but he'd mainly kept to himself. He was very materialistic like that. The few things he'd let slip through his fingers in trade with the world had enriched them. But in his eyes, it was wrong. They were becoming closer to his own shining glory. No one should be so close. They were mortals of the earth. He was a symbol to them; an immortal light that could rival the gods!

China would last forever!

So why was he now in this position? Why was he slumped on the floor, chest heaving with pain and effort, as his life trickled out of his back? He could see the blood, a black puddle silvered with the moonlight streaming in from the window. And he could see a sandaled foot in the corner of his dimming vision. His little brother. The bloody blade of a sword dipped into sight. He couldn't believe it.

They'd live together so long. He thought Japan had been so self-centered, so cold, but this was not like him. Japan was a master of controlling himself; his emotions were always checked by a mask of calm serenity. In the moment before the pain had begun, he'd heard a rage filled scream. Unease, and some measure of happiness; those he had seen in his little brother. Never rage. He'd never seen Japan get angry, and not once had anger been directed at him.

There was a moment of fear. Maybe the sword was rising. He couldn't see it anymore. Maybe this was the end. Maybe Japan was about to finish him off. How did being beheaded feel? One could never know until it happened. Perhaps, a second after it was done, he would still be aware enough to find out?

No! He couldn't think things like this! He was immortal after all! He could not be killed because he would last forever! The other nations were far too primitive to destroy as great and shining a nation as he! He would survive and return stronger than before! He would never fall!

Never fall! So why was he now on the floor? Why was he fallen? He had wanted to make his brother as great as he himself was. But in his haste, had he created the one person who could undo him? Had he engineered his own downfall? And had he provoked Japan into this act?

He struggled to lift his head to see. The sandaled feet were gone. The house was quiet. No one seemed to have noticed what had happened. Maybe that was good. He was free to lie down and bleed out in peace. He was free to die even, as he most likely would. At least he would die as the strong nation he was, instead of a pitiful beggar of a nation with nothing. He would die on his own terms, in his own house.

Dying wasn't even as bad as it had begun to seem. It was so peaceful. The pain was either gone, or he could not feel it anymore. His hearing had left him already, and his sight was going as well, leaving him in blissful darkness. Perhaps now he would not have to worry anymore. What did it matter if life ended so sweetly?

He could still feel, somehow. He could feel a warmth on his arm. A touch perhaps? Someone was holding him, shouting at him, pressing at his wounds. Why didn't they just leave him here? He'd lost too much blood. He would not live and he did not want to live. Life would mean pain; pain that he did not want. The shouting sounded so very far away. As if the voice was coming across a chasm miles wide.

He was too far gone. Why did they even bother? Could anyone have pulled him back from the edge of death? Could he be saved and rise again? Probably not, but the person holding him seemed to think so. There was more shouting; a flurry of activity that seemed to move in slow motion. He closed his eyes. It was all too much right now. His life would be up to fate. He didn't care anymore.

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Author's Note: I do not own Hetalia. I do not own anything to do with Hetalia. I own my writing. That is IT.

Author's Note #2: I hate reading angst and death fics. I hated writing this fic! I still wrote it. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just sadistic like that. Or masochistic or whatever... Either way, I DID NOT enjoy this! But I hope you do. Please read and review.


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